Bad Man
by Hanyanbiki
Summary: The truth is- Bulma Briefs has always been attracted to Bad Men. From desert bandits, evil generals to green mercenaries with killer hair. She had been doomed from the start.


Disclaimer: Nope.

CHAPTER 1

 _The night air was cool across her calves, billowing her white dress around her knees. The stars were luminous in their constellations- illuminating the field in a kind of pearlescent glow. Small insects flickered in the darkness. She turned- a crumbling tower lay at the edge of the field. Bare feet carried her across the moss and grass- anxiety building in her chest._

 _She cast a worried look behind her, into the pitch black shadows of the trees behind her._

 _He was coming._

 _The door to the tower was rotted through- needing nothing more than a forceful push to grant her entrance into the tower. Rusted hinges screamed against their metal counterparts as she shoved her way through._

 _Get to the top._

 _Like a gunshot- the sound of branches cracking froze her in her tracks. She didn't look. If she looked- he would be there. She had to keep moving. The tower held only a crumbling spiral stairwell up- the stones loose and unstable from age and disuse. She scrambled her way up, keeping to the shadows._

 _The screaming of metal hinges reverberated below her._

 _Panicking, she ran faster, holding fast to the vines and jutted edges that held the tower upright. A shaft of moonlight filtered through the stair above her-alighting the dust motes like an ethereal aura- She was almost to the top. She'd be safe if she made it to the top._

 _Her heart beat rapidly in her chest as she climbed the precarious ledges further. She crawled her way up, finally reaching the flat top of the tower. The night sky open before her, the moon in her luminescence, casting dark shadows across the piles of broken stone and mortar. She carefully crept to the edge of the tower, and pressed herself into the deepest shadow._

 _Something scratched and scraped on the floor below._

 _Fear lingered in the back of her throat, a spiky, bitter taste- but it was held in check by the anticipation of the unknown. It was strange- this feeling of anticipation- of expectancy- exhiliration and mind numbing terror._

 _She watched in breathless anticipation as something climbed it's way out onto the landing. She could feel rage and hunger rolling off of it in waves. It was made of darkness, this creature of shadow and hate. It was vaguely humanoid, hunched over, it's hands clenching and unclenching in frustration. It sniffed the air and slowly, deliberately, turned it's face to her._

 **-x-**

Heart pounding, Bulma Briefs shot up in her bed, damp with sweat. Shoving her sleepmask haphazardly up, she glanced bleary-eyed at the digital clock beside her. The offensive red glow read 4:27am.

Gross.

A loud boom of thunder sounded in the distance. Heaving an incredibly dramatic sigh, perfected to express her exasperation, she flopped back onto her pillow. Rain thrummed against the panes of her balcony. She slammed her sleep mask back over her eyes, momentarily exulting in it's cool satin texture and applauding herself for money well spent, and waited- attempting to allow the sounds of the storm outside soothe her.

4:35am.

Growling, she rolled to her side and shoved her face into the pillow, willing herself to fall back asleep.

4:48am.

She turned over.

5:01am.

Goddammit.

Silently cursing the broken promises of the Tempurpedic Mattress company, she fumbled for the lightswitch at her bedside. Sliding the sleep mask back up, she kicked the offending comforter off and rolled out of bed. Grabbing her ugliest, fluffiest robe, she trudged out of her room and down to the kitchen. Her stomach rumbled, agreeing to the chosen destination.

As she passed through the darkened corridors of her home, she caught sight of herself in one of the hallway mirrors. Dark circles hung low beneath blue eyes- her wide mouth set in a flat line. Her hair... well. Her hair was a science experiment in and of itself. Sleep had wrecked her finely coiffed teal curls into something that defied logic and the laws of nature. Her black satin sleep mask was tangled up somewhere amongst the masse. Yes- it was she- Bulma Briefs- renowned genius and famed beauty that haunted these empty halls. She bared her teeth at her reflection. Coffee. Coffee would fix this.

Making her way into the kitchen, she flipped the lights on and glanced out the window to the lawn where the training module her father and she designed, sat. The windows in the gravity machine glowed red, indicating that the chamber was in use. The red lights, amongst the downpour and lightning, cast a sinister glow on the courtyard. Apropos, she thought- considering the occupant within.

A blinding flash of lightning and another loud boom shook the complex. The lights flickered above her. Grabbing her coffee and a bowl of crunchy somethings, she shuffled her way into the darkened living room.

Seeing no need to turn on the lights, as the storm was an exquisite atmosphere for broody tv bingeing, she cocooned herself with robe and blanket into the sofa and absentmindedly turned on the television. The glow from the tv set flickered eerily across theliving room as she idly flipped through the channels. Rain was beating against the glass panes, loud, but soothing. She loved storms. Loved the thunder, the lightning. There was something primally thrilling about the proximity and the danger. She cuddled deeper into the couch, wrapping the blanket more closely around her.

Her breath hitched as there was a movement in the shadows behind her. She instinctively froze- the remote pausing on a nature documentary. He stood in the deep dark. Not exactly watching her, but aware. She hadn't heard the chamber shut off- nor registered his soundless entrance into the building. Bulma did not turn to look. Her reluctant guest was skittish- not afraid, per say, more like- cautious. Like a feral stray; always crouching, perpetually ready to attack.

The narrator on the TV droned.

 _"In it's natural habitat- the jaguar is master of his domain. Once in captivity, however, it is important for it's keepers to make him feel at home. Otherwise it's feral nature could prove to be most deadly..."_

He moved slowly, directly to the darkened hall leading to the back of the house where Bulma's parents had set up his guest quarters. Due to his violent nature and the Namekian's legitimate fear of him- he was set up in the main household, as opposed to the separate complex that housed the other alien visitors.

 _"For jaguars bred in captivity, it is imperative that their caretakers imprint upon them at an early age. Older breeds that are obtained through capture or rescue, are much more difficult to tame. A repertoire can be built, but the relationship takes much more time, patience, and tenacity, as the beast is much more likely to turn upon it's keeper at the slightest provocation..."_

Bulma made sure to keep her eyes focused on the tv. This was the longest he had remained within her vicinity since he had arrived. She was filled with a mixture of fear and intellectual curiosity.

Bracing herself for his inevitable retreat, she slowly turned her head to face him. Lightning flashed- briefly illuminating the room and his silhouette in the doorway. His back was to the her, but he had turned slightly to look behind him at the other occupant of the room. Their eyes locked.

Her breathing was shallow and quiet- like a hare caught in the gaze of a predator.

 _"Even if the animal has been sanctuaried or rescued- trust must be established. This relationship can be built through offerings of food and a firm respect of personal space. The jaguar's trust cannot, at any point, be broken. If it perceives danger to itself or its survival, the animal will turn..."_

Slowly- she proffered the bowl of snacks she had pilfered from the kitchen towards him.

"You want some?"

His brow crinkled, and Bulma could swear she saw him roll his eyes, ever so slightly.

Feeling brave, she shook the bowl at him a little, and gave the barest hint of what she hoped was an encouraging smile.

He stared at her, his gaze inscrutable. The storm and the tv continued to cast shadows across the harsh planes of his face.

 _"Once the predator has become accustomed to his new habitat, he will be fiercely territorial and protective of his environment, and those that dwell within_ it."

Bulma, suddenly feeling absurdly competitive in what she had decided was a staring contest, grabbed one of the offered crunchy snacks and brought it to her mouth. Slowly, deliberately, she chewed the treat. The moment stretched awkwardly, the only sound [apart from the thunder] was the loud, obnoxious crunch of the snack between her teeth.

Silence reigned.

Bulma, not to be outdone by the impressive stoicism of the prince, grabbed another treat.

*CRUNCH*

Vegeta stared obliquely- his gaze never wavering from hers.

*CRUNCH*

The side of his mouth twitched. As soon as it happened, another thunderclap rattled the walls, startling Bulma into dropping the bowl and breaking eye contact. Cursing with nervous laughter- she slid off the couch to clean up. When she glanced back up- The prince was gone.

She turned back around and cuddled back into the couch- feeling oddly pleased with herself. She had almost made him laugh. Or smirk. Or- you know- express something other than that interminably blank stare.

The day might not turn out so hideous after all.

 **-x-**

Vegeta sat on the floor of his guest quarters- attempting to meditate. The storm had knocked out the generators in the gravity chamber. He had originally planned to raid the fridge- but there had been a surprise occupant in the vicinity.

He was no coward, but his position in this social ecosystem he had landed in, was nebulous. He was, by all accounts, a villain. Even had he not been forced into servitude by Frieza- his nature, culture, and genetics all would have dictated the same fate. He had been born to wage war. To battle.

Which is exactly what he was not doing.

Heaving a frustrated sigh, he settled himself again and squeezed his eyes shut. He would meditate. Meditation was useful. It allowed the fighter to re-evaluate his battlefield in order to strategically plan his attacks and defenses; it also gave him the time to deconstruct his fighting style to detect his own weaknesses. Dwelling on foolish what-ifs wasn't beneficial to the here and now.

Vegeta slowed his breathing and cleared his thoughts.

Surely that woman had not expected him to accept her offering. She shook the bowl at him! AND she chewed with her mouth open. Hideous.

Thunder rumbled in the distance.

He cracked one eye open and glanced at the digital clock sitting on the table across from him.

5:48am. Unacceptable.

He centered himself again and focused on his breathing. Long deep breath in. Hold. Two. Three. Four. Slow controlled breath out. Two. Three. Four. Repeat. Battles. Weaknesses. Focus.

 **-x-**

Bulma sighed. Boredom was not attractive on her.

It was a stunningly beautiful day, cloudless and warm, though still humid from the recent storms. The breeze was gentle- and the world was silent. Well, almost. She was laid out under a generous expanse of umbrella beside the Capsule Corporation pool- to attain that perfect golden glow she had lacked during her stint on Namek. The Namekians, displaced and homeless, were chattering amongst themselves quietly underneath a slew of other umbrellas. She had fitted them all with fashionable swimwear, sunscreen [did they even NEED sunscreen?] and a table full of fruity libations.

Bulma idly wondered if Namekians tanned. If they did- did they turn brighter green? Darker? Or maybe some other undertoned color? She shrugged and took a long sip of her own uniquely cocktailed drink. It was blue. It was candy flavored. It had a doo-dad hanging from the side of the glass. It was Perfect.

She pushed her oversized cat-eyed sunglasses down far enough to peer over. At the far end of the olympic sized pool, a lone figure sat bare-chested and cross-legged on the concrete. Even at this distance his silhouette was unmistakeable. The flame swept hair. The wide set shoulders and ridiculously lean waist. Bulma snorted. Saiyan physiology was disgustingly enviable. She glanced down at her own body. Thank god for good genetics. Her legs weren't toned in the slightest- but they had good shapes. Her calves were well defined- but thighs in particular were very generous, without the offending dimples. Her stomach was flat, and soft. Vague indentations of her obliques shadowed her torso. She had gotten thicker as she aged, no longer the gangly elbows and knees of her youth. It was probably a good thing- otherwise she would topple over with her expanse of chest. She absentmindedly adjusted her swimsuit top and regarded her arms and hands. They were- acceptable, she deemed. She liked her hands in particular. Brains were nothing without deft fingers. Hers were long and graceful. Little white scars crisscrossed the pads of her tips and over her knuckles- betraying years of work. Science and expensive moisturizers had done what they could- but Bulma liked the reminder.

She glanced again at the unsociable saiyan at the far end of the pool. He'd been out here before she had. The heat had overworked the circuitry in the gravity chamber. Her father was designing a more effective cooling system. He had found an industrial cooling fan in one of their older labs that would significantly decrease the temperature. Needless to say, the saiyan had no training capsule to retreat to. Bulma squinted her eyes at the figure- he had been out here for hours- and he wasn't even pink. If anything- his skin was turning an enviable shade of brown, with reddish russet undertones. Saiyans even tanned perfectly. She snorted derisively at her absurd turn of thoughts. She took a long sip of her drink and sighed again, closing her eyes and letting the heat and breeze lull her to sleep.

Boredom was definitely not attractive on her.

 **-x-**

Vegeta's eyebrow twitched in irritation at the cacophany of noise around him. He had decided to dedicate a day to contemplate and meditate on his current situation. No sooner than he had sat down and achieved a moment's peace, that woman had started setting up around his meditative pool.

To make matters worse, she had invited those antennae bearing morons. They hadn't stopped their ridiculous babble for the last three hours.

The woman had taken a spot on the exact opposite end of the reflective pool and promptly disrobed.

Now- he was no prude. He wasn't particularly uncomfortable with nudity. Or partial. He was a soldier after all. And Frieza's army was co-ed and co-alien-species. But nudity had a function. There was a purpose. To bathe. To procreate. But this woman was... displaying herself. He snorted. Vulgar woman. What she was displaying he couldn't have the slighest idea. She had no muscle tone or mass. The most attractive part of her body was her face and she was hiding that behind some ridiculously large tinted glasses. He glanced quickly over her body- she had too much of...everything.

As he studied her, she pushed down her glasses and squinted at him.

Humans had terrible vision. He had no doubts that she could barely make out his face.

She snorted. His nose wrinkled in disdain. What a hideous noise. Apparently lost in thought, she seemed to take stock of her body parts, and absentmindedly adjusted the scrap of fabric that was barely restraining her breasts.

Vegeta felt something catch. He couldn't look away. Color started to flush his skin a dark russet. Vulgar, distasteful woman. He forced himself to close his eyes and forget the spectacle he had witnessed.

Hours had passed, and Vegeta finally dared to open his eyes again. The Namekians had waddled off to the greenhouse, umbrellas and tables abandoned in favor of more familiar greenery.

Satisfied with his days meditations, he stood and stretched. There was a noise at the far end of the pool.

He looked over at the woman, loudly snoring and splayed awkwardly over a deck chair.

On the planet Vegeta, there had been a desert lizard, known for it's pudgy frame and big eyes, that would sunbathe in the heat of his planet's three suns. Vegeta could not, for the life of him, remember the name of that stupid reptile. It was pale and white- with gold iridescent scales. Saiyan children often captured and tamed the lizards for pets. But the lizard would lay on it's back, arms and legs splayed open, and bask in the heat.

The woman looked just like that lizard.

He chuckled to himself, pleased with the unflattering parallel he had drawn, and began to make his way into the house. As he passed her, he noticed the usual alabaster of her skin had started to turn a painful looking scarlet. She snored blissfully on, unwares.

Humans were so incredibly inferior. One sun. And they burned. How have they even survived this long? He shook his head ruefully- greater species than they had fallen. Their weakness was unforgiveable. But- she was helping him train, worthless as her species was in the long run.

Without thought, he tapped the edge of the umbrella, extending it's protective shadow across her burning torso and legs and continued into the compound in search of food.

 **-x-**

Bulma awoke to chilly air and pitch black. Bleary eyed and confused, she shoved her interfering sunglasses up onto her mess of blue curls, and rubbed her eyes. It was night-time. The moon was bright and illuminated the pool. Her green guests appeared to have vacated the impromptu pool party hours ago, if their melted drinks were of any indication. She scanned the end of the pool. Vegeta seemed to have bolted off, too. Just as well.

Yawning, she stretched, and immediately yelped in pain. She winced as she looked at her body. Her torso, tops of her legs, and the bottoms of her feet were all an angry lobster red. Thank god she had fallen asleep under the umbrella shade. God knows what would have happened if she had done so under the direct sunlight. She congratulated herself on a crisis averted and tenderly put her feet to the ground.

Pain shot up her legs. She yelped and huffed back down onto the chair. This was going to suck. She glanced around her, but the grounds were absent of any employees or alien guests.

A momentary stray image of Vegeta carrying her into the compound made her laugh out loud. The key word in Prince Charming is, in fact, Charming. And the Saiyan prince had none of that. Laughing again at the ridiculous idea, she steeled herself to the pain and hobbled across the concrete onto the lawn. The house was only a couple hundred yards away. She could do this.

The tantalizing image of cool aloe vera in her medicine cabinet made her hobble a bit faster.

The Gravity Capsule's backup generator was humming a short distance away, the red training lights aglow. Her father must've finished the installations. She refocused her attentions on the house. One foot tip-toed and hunched over the other.; luckily, the night air had cooled the grass.

After what seemed like ages of creeping- she made it to the door. Leaning against the frame, she exulted in the cool metal feel against the fire in her skin. In the flourescent light, one horrifying fact became clear.

She was striped.

Her front half, from mid-torso to feet, and a clear deliniation down the sides of her legs, bright red. Her back, backs of her thighs, calves and arms, were the same, alabaster skin she had started the morning with.

She remembered the sunglasses. With a sudden burst of speed- she bolted into her bathroom upstairs, turned on the lights, and stared at herself in the mirror. Her face was a bright red- except for the glaringly white outline of her sunglasses around her eyes, forehead and cheeks. She was a reverse raccoon.

Her eyes welled with tears.

Refusing to burst into narcissistic hysterics [there would be time for that later] she stripped down and stubbornly grabbed a bottle of aloe and slathered it on her body. Being no stranger to a sunburn [albeit not one this bad since she was a child] she preemptively downed some pain-relievers and a bottle of water. Hydration in and out, she always said.

Bulma tenderly made her way to her boudoir and grabbed the baggiest, softest t-shirt she could find. She snorted at the sight of her underwear and bra- there was no way she was putting those on over a sunburn. She wasn't a masochist. She gingerly pulled the shirt over her head and slowly, painstakingly, crawled into bed. She lay atop her comforter, not daring to move, lest the fabric scrape across her inflamed skin.

She stared at the ceiling.

She sighed.

She looked at the clock.

2:35am.

Gross.


End file.
